


Where Duty Truly Lies

by Jubalii



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Development (threat), Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Bards, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, There is a Fine Line Between Admiration and Blind Idolization... G'raha Will Learn This, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29552037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: In one lifetime he was ostracized for his appearance; in another, his position of power. His every choice was made for the good of many, his fate sealed to be the hand that moved the stars. Now he's been given the chance to join them: can this paradox of a man, bound by the weight of two souls, write his own name in the heavens? Or will his light fizzle before it has the chance to truly shine?
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Where Duty Truly Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a wol x g'raha romance but it's really an excuse for me to write found family fluff in the style of G'raha bonding and befriending the Scions. 
> 
> That nerd deserves a family (in the form of other nerds).

_Is it possible to dream of memories?_

The Exarch’s throat tightened as he opened his eyes, finding himself met by the vaulted crystalline ceiling of his eternal abode. He was tired, _so_ tired, although an unnatural stiffness in his limbs spoke of a long slumber. His mind was slow to wake this morning, thoughts running slower than tree sap. Something had happened—or he’d thought it had, at any rate—but now he was back in the Tower. He stood on the cusp of yet another long, weary day; that thought alone filled him with a melancholy that spoke of bone-deep disappointment. 

His head lolled to the side, feeling far too heavy for the neck it sat upon. Peering through barely parted lashes, he found himself resting on gilded carpet; although motheaten and musty with age, it had still managed to maintain its vibrant crimson hue. He frowned at the sight, confusion piercing the heavy fog of sleep. 

How had he ended up here, of all places? It was rare that he bothered to scale this area of the Syrcus Tower these days. He was no longer inclined to explore its depths, nor did he want to risk waking anything that still slumbered in the shadows. So why, then, had he…? 

With an impatient, laboring huff, he attempted to settle his limbs into a more comfortable position. He was clearly too old to be caught napping on the floor; everything from the tips of his ears down to his toes ached as though he’d been sleeping crooked for an era. He wanted to attribute the soreness to aging, but those pains had ceased to exist once blood and bone gave way to gilded crystal. This seemed different, somehow— familiar, but wholly unrelated to the aches and pains of advanced age. 

_I don’t know how, but you’ve done it to yourself, old man._

He shut his eyes firmly, wondering if the answer was to sleep another few bells. Perhaps his body would sort itself out in the interim, and he’d be right as rain when next he woke. If nothing else, Lyna would eventually find him lying here. A dear girl, that one, but a spitfire if there ever was; he could already hear the echoes of her scolding ringing in the crystal rafters. It was probably deserved, especially for whatever crackpot theory had him climbing the Tower alone after all these years of—

“G’raha Tia?” 

_That voice._ Little more than a whisper, soft and hesitant, coming from somewhere far above him. It was as though he’d been levinstruck, a bolt of pure energy racing through him faster than his sleep-addled mind could keep up. Emotions ran rampant, tripping over one another in their hurry to be made known: agony, ecstasy, understanding, _awareness._

And fear. 

Fear that his ears might be deceiving him, that the voice might be naught but the last dying fragments of his dream. The thought had his eyes wide, head snapping forward in a desperate attempt to find her. A wave of dizziness ran through him at the motion and he sucked in a sharp breath, even as his terror became relief at the sight of a kneeling thigh near his arm. 

Dark cloth, white leather, a tantalizing glimpse of bare skin between—a century earlier, the sight would have been deadly… or so he told himself, even as his traitorous heart thrummed against his breastbone. His eyes found an easy, familiar path up her body: an archer’s frame, built for the bow. The Tower’s light cast a strange pallor over her cheeks, freckles standing out in stark relief against pale skin. 

_Eachna_. He turned the syllables over in his mind, relishing the ages-old affection that bubbled up inside of him. The Warrior of Light and Darkness, a shining beacon of hope to all who had the fortune of encountering her. Her deeds were the stuff of legend, a guidebook for every adventurer who wanted to one day write their own name in the stars—himself included. And though she was malms above him, higher than the heavens, she had chosen to return for him. Or… was it _to_ him?

Their eyes met and he melted beneath her uneasy gaze, heart breaking at the sight of her unguarded concern. _Such worry does not befit my warrior_ , he wanted to say, if only to watch as her frown broke into the sunny smile he knew her capable of. It would, of course, be no more than a jest, easy banter between two old friends. The thought of her being _his_ anything… Could a shy, fumbling fool like himself ever hope to lay claim to the stars?

He had no time to peruse such matters. Memories had surfaced alongside his newfound awareness; the grim reminder of his own mortality was more than enough to pull him from the admiration of that which he most adored. It had been no dream. He remembered everything now, with a vivid clarity that frightened him.

Elidibus, the mighty heart of Zodiark, had been reduced to a small, trembling form. Hooded and masked, he could have easily been mistaken for a crying child. Eachna had cried too, bitter tears of compassion and regret catching the sun as she tipped colored crystals into the Ascian’s palms. The glistening remnants had still clung to her lashes when she had made her promise, an assurance that he would be a most welcome companion on her next adventure. Her parting gift to the faded echo of a man whose life had been reduced to its last flickering embers.

And then… crystal. Blinding, an icy noose about his neck, seizing his limbs, stealing his breath, _drowning_ —

He trembled, tail twitching anxiously at the phantom flames in his lungs. It had been a most unwelcome surprise; he had not anticipated any awareness of his body once his mind had been imbued within the auracite vessel. In hindsight, he might have expected it. The Scions had, at times, seemed to possess a rudimentary awareness of the changes being wrought on their Source bodies. If only there had been more time to ask questions!

“G’raha? Are you… awake?” Eachna was still staring at him, her concern morphing into something far more alarming.

“Good morning,” he managed, startled at how raspy his voice sounded. It was as though he’d not had a proper drink in years. _Two years, by the Source’s count. Or is it still considered two hundred? Am I… myself?_ He was more frightened to realize he wasn’t entirely certain what he meant by the thought. Was he the Exarch, or G’raha Tia? Both? Neither?

He still held the Exarch’s memories and emotions: the weight of countless tribulations borne over decades of life, wisdom that comes from experience, an intense love for the foreign land he’d learned to call home. At the same time, he could feel the energy, the impatience, the inexperience of the young G’raha, the man he had been—was? His head spun with the effort of trying to puzzle it out, unspeakable exhaustion still beating at the corners of his mind.

“It is _you_ , isn’t it?” Eachna asked breathlessly, mirroring his thoughts. _Focus, Raha._

“I… I believe so?” His thoughts were too tangled to muddle through at the moment, and so he pushed them aside for later consideration. Attempting to pull himself off the ground, he found that his limbs were more leaden then he’d first thought them to be. Getting nowhere, he let his skull thump against the carpet in defeat. Eachna leaned close, a crease forming between her brows as she watched his face carefully.

“You do know me… don’t you?” Her voice, so full of hope, of pain: it brought a lump to the base of his throat. He might not know himself at the moment, with his souls clearly in the process of settling as one. But to know himself and to know _her_ were two different things entirely. He pushed all the energy he could spare into his right hand, lifting it and marveling at the sight of unmarred, uncrystallized flesh. It fell atop her own, the warmth of her fingers burning steadily against his clammy palm.

“How—” He stopped and cleared his throat, trying to manage something intelligible. “How could I not? I would recognize you anywhere, my… inspiration.” Theatrical, melodramatic, wholly unnecessary and even a little silly: the Exarch within him withered in embarrassment, even as the younger soul preened at the rightness of it. After all, were they not in Amon’s theatre?

He remembered now why she had to scale Syrcus Tower to find his body. He had wanted to be discovered there by future adventurers, a picture of dormant Allagan royalty awaiting the generation worthy of rousing him. In his mind, the curious explorers of that far off age would find him seated in the theatre as its chief patron, his slumber a centuries-long intermission. That _she_ should be the one to find him this way, a living reminder of his own youthful folly….

If his lingering mortification touched her at all, she didn’t show it. Her lips parted, unshed tears swimming in her eyes. He was allowed one brief, beautiful moment to bask in her light before she surged forward, gathering him into her arms and bringing on another nauseating bout of dizziness.

“Don’t scare me like that, y’fool!” He’d seen the effects of her more… _exuberant_ embraces on others in the First, but until now he’d never had the pleasure of experiencing one firsthand. He found himself being squeezed to within an ilm of his new-old life, lungs crushed beneath the iron vice grip of her arms. Every breath was a struggle, blood pooling in his cheeks as he gaped wordlessly in an effort to draw air.

_What a wonderful way to die._

“My apologies,” he wheezed, needing to breathe and yet desperately wishing she would never let go. “I believe… I am still… gathering my wits.”

“I thought—I was afraid—” Her voice cracked, muffled against his scalp as she cradled his limp frame to her chest. “I didn’t want… another goodbye. Not so soon.” He let out a weak laugh as she loosened her grip.

“Strange… I seem to recall that the Warrior of Light wasn’t at all fond of NOAH’s resident historian. Not that I blame her,” he added ruefully, ears flattening as he remembered his immature behavior during their first foray into the Tower. “I wouldn’t have imagined you so keen to wake the little brat.” She echoed his laugh, pulling away to offer him a teary smile.

“You weren’t _that_ bad. Not at the end, anyroad.” “She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm, sniffing loudly in the empty theatre. “I was sad to see you go.”

“Then I won’t leave again.” The bold assurance fell thoughtlessly from his lips, hanging awkwardly in the air between them. Her brows arched in surprise, head tilting as she stared down at him. _Of all the shameless impropriety!_

He certainly felt shame now, flames licking hotly at his cheeks as he averted his eyes. While they had worked well as a team on the First, he no longer had the Tower’s magical energy to draw from. Promise or no promise, he had no right to hold her to her word now that he was more hinderance than help.

“B-but what of the others?” he stammered quickly, cutting her off before she could respond. “If you’re here, may I assume that they’re all in their rightful bodies? No lasting harm done?” Eachna blinked, clearly confused at his abrupt change of pace, but nodded.

“They’re fine—or they will be. Don’t worry,” she insisted, catching sight of his incredulous expression, “Krile’s promised that good food and rest will have them up and about in no time. I was more worried about _you_.”

“Me?” His blush didn’t seem to be dissipating. Was he feverish? “Whatever for? Your friends would be your first priority, I should think.”

“Are we not friends?” she clucked, lips pursed in a pout. “The others had one soul to worry about. You, on the other hand, said yours might… curdle.” Her nose wrinkled in clear distaste at whatever image she’d conjured for herself. “When you opened your eyes and didn’t say anything, I feared the worst.” 

“I… I see.” His offhand comment, meant only to reinforce his own lack of knowledge on the subject, had sowed seeds of doubt in her mind. To think that she’d carried that fear with her all this time…. Once again, he’d spoken without thinking. _How many times must you relearn this lesson?_ “Forgive me,” he sighed, mentally cursing himself. “I’ve caused you undue stress on my behalf.” 

“Doesn’t matter now,” she said kindly, smoothing back his bangs with absentminded affection. He swallowed thickly, unable—unwilling—to move. “Everything seems to have turned out well for once. You’re all awake, there’s no calamity, and Tataru’s putting on the kettle for us at home.”

“H-home?” The word felt strange on his lips.

“The Rising Stones, I mean. You’ve never been, have you? You’ll love it, G’raha, we have the best view of the lake from the—” She paused, an odd look crossing her face. “There I go, roping everyone else into my plans again,” she laughed. “I’m sure you’re eager to return to your old life.”

 _Not particularly._ Physically, two winters had passed; mentally, he was centuries removed from the life he’d led before his slumber. That G’raha was gone, little more than a footnote in the vast history of this star. This new G’raha, the culmination of both young and old, had nowhere to return _to_. Being the product of both the Source and the First meant that he didn’t fully belong in either. There was no easy path for him to claim as his own.

“I would be more than delighted to—” He bit down hard on his tongue, willing himself to _think_ for once before jumping into another passionate, flowery speech. “—to see the others. That being said, I am… not feeling my best,” he admitted with a frown. “I doubt I could take more than a step or two before collapsing. It’s strange… this didn’t happen when I was woken after the Calamity.”

“I think it’s the auracite.” Eachna lifted him into a sitting position, her arm sturdy around his shoulders. “The others said the same thing. I wonder if it has something to do with leaving your body? A soul isn’t made to inhabit a crystal.”

“I’m sure you’re right, although I’d rather not tempt fate with another test.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to keep from swaying on the spot. “If the Sons of St. Coinach are still in the ruins, it should be easy enough to work around. I remember a stretcher in the chirurgeon’s tent—”

“No need. I’ll take care of it.” She looped his arms around her neck with a smile, pulling his chest flush to her spine before he could sputter a protest. “Hold on tight!” Without any further warning, she wrapped his thighs tightly around her waist and, adjusting her grip only once, stood up with a single fluid motion. His head rolled, nails digging into the bunched cloth around her shoulders as he fought a wave of nausea.

“Oh, my…” He groaned, closing his eyes as the theatre spun around them. At any other time, he would have been thoroughly lost in the admiration of her solid warmth against his chest, practically clinging to her broad shoulders. But this was worse than a bout of aether sickness after a night on the town; everything twirled in endless figures behind his eyelids, his stomach rolling in a valiant effort to keep up.

“Go slowly,” he pleaded, knowing her penchant for sprinting everywhere she went.

“G’raha, really!” Her playful laugh vibrated against his forehead. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“This is _not_ my idea of an adventure.” He burrowed deeper against her neck, tail flicking in subtle annoyance before looping itself around her nearest arm. He found himself too tired to shake it free, ears drooping as he slowly relaxed against her. _I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—_

“I’d almost rather you brought the stretcher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've done the level 80 BRD quest then you might recognize the title. If you don't... no worries, it'll be explained : )   
> A slow start, but the best is yet to come!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter and tumblr @skyboundsheep!
> 
> More info about Eachna can be found at buffestbard.carrd.co


End file.
